Saturday, 14 May 2011

Saturday Poem

“Fools” is a little harsh, buthe knew to avoid sentimentality—try substituting for itand you’ll see why it’s there.I sit on my sofa and watch,through the back window,the new red leaves of the Japanese maplestir in a breeze so slight it would beimperceptible without them.To be eighty is also a little harsh.I salute the red leaves and amglad that I continue to distinguishtheir small motions, althoughI understand that neither they nor Ihave lasting guarantees. Other leaves with their impromptu ripplingsare on the way andmy semblable walks sprylynearby, casting his eye about himfor where he’ll live next:it’s a nice neighbourhood,the young family who just moved innext door will have a settled lookby then, and standing in their drivewaythey will explain to himthe street’s idiosyncracies.The word "plangency" has tempted memore than once but I’ve resisted it.These lines may always have beenits long-term goal.